It's about Us!

 

Psalm 133

Proper 15 / Year A

If you were a pilgrim walking to Jerusalem to attend one of it’s many yearly religious festivals, you passed the time saying or singing what are known as the Psalms of Ascent.  These fifteen psalms (numbers 120-134 in our prayer book) speak to a variety of situations pilgrims encounter during their journey. 

Imagine getting your first sight of Jerusalem after several days of walking.  You are tired, but it is built on top of a mountain and you have got to make the climb.  Perhaps the words of the 121^st Psalm will help:

I lift up my eyes to the hills,

 from where is my help to come?

My help comes from the Lord,

  the maker of heaven and earth.

Once you get there, you and your companions might want to sing 122^nd Psalm:

I was glad when the said to me,

  “Let us go to the house of the Lord.”

Now our feet are standing

  within your gates, O Jerusalem.

Maybe during your travels you reflect on past events and times when you came up short.  Psalm 130 would be of comfort:

If you, Lord, were to note what is done amiss,

  O Lord, who could stand?

For there is forgiveness with you;

  therefore you shall be feared.

With [the Lord] there is plenteous redemption,

  and he shall redeem Israel from all their sins.

One of the Psalms of Ascent – Psalm 133 – is appointed to be read in response to today’s first lesson.  It begins with this marvelous statement:

Oh, how good and pleasant it is,

  when brethren live together in unity!

It is an fitting choice to pair it with the story of Joseph forgiving his brothers.  Like Esau forgiving Jacob for cheating him out of his birthright and stealing his blessing, Joseph pardons his brothers for selling him into slavery years earlier.  It is not at all what we expect from a person so deeply wronged who now has risen to power.  We expect him to exact revenge, but Joseph surprises us by going in a different and more generous direction.  The unity he creates (as the psalm says) is “good and pleasant.”

The psalm uses two images to describe what unity is like: oil and dew.  Each holds special meaning for pilgrims.

Oil from olives was an important commodity in the dry climate of the ancient Near East and it was poured on the head for one of two reasons.  The more common use related to hair and skin care.  It was mixed with sweet smelling spices and drizzled on the head.  When a guest entered a house, the host poured some oil on the person to offer comfort and relief (Think about the 23^rd psalm: “thou annointest my head with oil”).  Oil was also used to enthrone kings and consecrate priests, so it is significant that the psalm references Aaron, Moses’ brother, who was Israel’s first priest.  The oil runs down to his beard and to the collar of his robe.  Aaron’s priestly vestments include a necklace with twelve stones.  On each stone is written the name of one of the twelve tribes of Israel.  Oil poured so abundantly on Aaron’s head – whether it be as an act of hospitality or as a sign of consecration – falls symbolically on all God’s people, unifying us as we share in its meaning.

The psalm also likens unity to dew.  Very little rain falls in the Holy Land from April through October, but Mt. Hermon, located some 125 miles north of Jerusalem, was known to have heavy dew throughout the year, even in the dry seasons.  This moisture refreshed the region and kept it green during a time when vegetation in other areas withered.  The image of dew suggests unity has a way of refreshing and preserving those who live under its blessings.

Pilgrims singing this psalm as they travel to a religious festival often do so among members of their extended families.  The psalm reminds them of unity’s blessing when shared among siblings (brethren), but also within kindred relationships.  Once in Jerusalem its message and meaning extend to all people living under God’s covenant.  That Christians say this psalm on Maundy Thursday, at the institution of the Lord’ Supper, suggests to us the blessing of unity is to be shared among all people of faith.

If you have been joining us for Morning Prayer over the last two weeks, you know our assigned readings from the Old Testament have been taken from the Book of Judges.  We have heard one brutal, violent story after another and I struggle to find a single redeeming feature in any of them.  Israel’s understanding of what it means to inherit and then inhabit the Promised Land goes through some major changes over the centuries covered in the bible.

·    In the Book of Genesis God promises this land to Abraham.  It then tells his story and the stories of his immediate descendants.

·    Exodus and subsequent books tell the story of deliverance from bondage in Egypt and wondering 40 years in the wilderness, eventually reaching the outskirts of the Promised Land.

·    In the Book of Joshua Israel understands God wants them to kill all the indigenous people living in the Promised Land because there is no way for them to coexist peacefully without being corrupted.

·    In the Book of Judges God’s people share the land, but local conflicts are frequent.  When a gentile group prevails, Israel understands this to be punishment for sin.  Eventually, God raises up a judge who rallies the people to defeat the enemy.

·    This period gives way to the era of the kings – Saul first, then David, followed by Solomon, and so forth.   Israel now controls the Promised Land with gentiles living in their midst.  Israel understands it must remain pure by being true to its covenant with God.

·    The era of the kings ends with the destruction of Jerusalem and exile in Babylon.  Here Israel learns how to be God’s people without the Temple and without the Promised Land.

·    Upon returning from exile, Israel begins to understand God wants her to be a “light to the nations.”  Israel is to teach foreigners about God and be a living example of what God desires for all people.

It is a story of God’s people in transformation, discerning over time who God is and what God requires.  The understanding of the notion of unity is a part of this process.  It’s progression looks something like this:

·       It’s all about me.

·       It’s me and not you.

·       It’s me against you.

·       It’s me showing you God’s love.

And, once Jesus introduces Kingdom of God…

·       It’s about us.

Oh, how good and pleasant it is,

  when people live as us!

Throughout this progression, the notion of unity and its blessings expands from siblings to extended family to clan to tribe to nation to all people.  We sense the blessing of unity when it is present in our family, in our church, in our community, in our nation, and in our world.  Conversely, we feel great pain when any of these circles is fractured or fragmented.  There is nothing good or pleasant about discord. 

And there is a lot of discord in our country right now.  We are not united in our politics, in our response to the pandemic, or in the call for social change.  Where do you see yourself and how you are approaching those who differ from you:

·       It’s all about me.

·       It’s me and not you.

·       It’s me against you.

·       It’s me showing you God’s love.

·       It’s about us.

The pilgrims didn’t walk to Jerusalem to pick a fight.  They wanted to experience the blessing of peace.   Joseph forgave his brothers and this act of kindness restored his place in the family and in his father’s life.    Where in your life is unity lacking and what might you be able to do to foster it?

From a Crappy Deal to Real Possibilities

 

Matthew 14:22-33

Proper 14 / Year A

All four gospels relate a version of the story we just heard.  Luke has Jesus in the boat with the disciples.  He is asleep in the midst of the storm, but when awakened, calms the sea.  The accounts in Mark and John closely follow the details in Matthew’s.  The 5,000 have just been fed (last week’s reading) and Jesus ‘makes’ the disciples get into a boat while he retreats for prayer.  The boat struggles for hours because the wind is against it.  Jesus, noticing this, walks out on the water, intending to pass by them.  The disciples see Jesus on the water and are terrified.  He tells them not to be afraid, steps into the boat, and the storm abates. 

Matthew adds one detail Mark and John do not.  Only Matthew tells us about Peter’s part in this story.  So let’s lay aside conversation about how Jesus is able to walk on water and command the weather – even though the modern mind begs for discussion about this – and focus our attention on what makes this report of the event unique… Peter.

Several, but not all, of Jesus’ disciples are fishermen by trade.  Peter is one of them.  Unlike, say Matthew (a tax-collector and no doubt landlubber), he is at home on the water.  Unlike me, who gets seasick in minor wave action, Peter is unfazed by sporty conditions.  And he is accustomed to being on the water at night, for this is when he does most of his fishing.  He is familiar with this body of water and its fast and frequent changes in conditions.  Peter is in his element.

And, as the text tells us, on this night the conditions are not good.  Waves batter the boat and the wind is against it.  In spite of their efforts and expertise, the disciples are far from land and have made no progress.  From Luke’s account we know some, if not all, on board believe the boat is in danger of sinking.  Peter and the other fishermen must surely be drawing on the storehouse of their collective vast experience, but nothing is working.  The situation is desperate and disheartening.  Peter must be at a loss.

And we know just how he feels.

I don’t have to tell you what kind of a year 2020 has been.  The wind is against us and the waves batter us from all directions.  And, no matter what we do, no matter how hard we try, no matter what sacrifices we make, it feels like we are making no headway in our struggle against the virus or in addressing calls for social change.  It is so frustrating and at times feels hopeless.

And then comes this past week with its “gift” of a hurricane.  Oh my Lord, how much more can we take?  How bad is it?  One person asked me how many more plagues we can expect!  For those of you not fortunate enough to sleep through the tornado ripping through our downtown, as I did, the fury in that moment created fear as never before.  For those who were spared from damage and destruction, our concern shifted immediately to friends and neighbors.  Are they OK?  Daylight brought with it a new realization of damaged homes and devastated neighborhoods and the hard work of cleaning up, which unfolded in a community without power sweltering in Suffolk’s August weather.  Yes, we know how Peter was feeling in that boat.  We, like him, have had enough!

Upon seeing what appears to be a person walking on the water, the disciples’ initial response is fear, which is understandable.  Then, once Jesus identifies himself, Peter speaks up, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come out on the water with you.”  We might want to ask what motivates him to do this.  I think there are three possibilities.

The first is a sense of daring.  In previous sermons on this passage I have praised Peter for his willingness to take a risk while the other disciples played it safe by cowering in the boat.  You know, sometimes you just have to get your feet wet.  Better to try and fail then never to try at all.  Peter should be admired for his daring nature, but today, at least, I don’t see this as his motivation.

Another possibility is devotion.  Peter wants to be where Jesus is and if this means going out on the water so be it.  Devotion is a strong drive for those of us who love the Lord.  Our heart’s desire is to be with Jesus and to be like Jesus.  In the text Peter says, “Command me to come to you on the water”, which might point to devotion as the motivation, but when Peter qualifies it with “If it is you…” it feels more like a test than a longing.

Here is a third possibility.  Peter might be motivated by despair.  He has had all he can take of struggling in the boat and will do anything to get out of it.  And do we ever know how this feels!  If Jesus was standing in the middle of the Nansemond River and we thought we could get away from all our troubles by walking out to him, at this point, who among us wouldn’t give it a try? 

Peter takes a few steps and all seems to be going well until he notices the strong wind, becomes frightened, begins to sink, and cries out to Jesus.  Jesus takes hold of him and says, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”  Doubt what?  In God?  In Jesus?  In himself?  The text doesn’t make it clear.  But let me suggest Peter’s faith first begins to waver the moment he can no longer tolerate the futility of being in the boat.  He gives up and gives in to hopelessness.  And we get it!  Walking away from his troubles provides a temporary relief – a very temporary relief – until he discovers getting out of the boat doesn’t mean getting out of the wind.

This week I received the summer edition of the Virginia Theological Seminary Journal.  In his remarks, the dean, Ian Markham, described for readers the life of the seminary as it began with the 2019 fall term through how it ended in the spring of 2020.  While the details vary, its story parallels that of every person and institution… plans and activities, normal daily life and routine, giving way overnight to a new and unrelenting reality.  Four people at the seminary tested positive for Covid-19 and at one point 58 people were in quarantine.  A handful of seminarians went to St. John’s Church at Lafayette Square to provide water, first-aid, and spiritual support to peaceful protesters, but after being gassed off the church grounds by federal agents, had to flee for their safety.   The seminary has not experienced a year this trying since it was turned into a field hospital during the Civil War.  And yet, it continues to fulfill its mission. 

Dean Markham writes this:

Paul writes in II Corinthians 4: “We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed, perplexed, but not driven to despair, persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies.”  There is no promise in Scripture that we are not going to be afflicted, or perplexed, or persecuted, or struck down.  But the promise of Scripture is that, through the grace of God, we will not be crushed, not driven to despair, not forsaken, and not destroyed.

We cling to this hope in this challenging time.

I had my little moment of this truth on Wednesday as I sat in the church office.  It had no phone or Internet connection, but it did have power.  So, I was isolated from the outside world, but comfortable. With nothing else to do, I picked up a booklet called Letting Go, which I had loaned out and was recently returned to me.  Letting Go compiles from sermons and newspaper columns the words of Ed Campbell, a priest I served as a seminarian.  In 1996 he was diagnosed with cancer and given six months to live.  True to Ed, he was open with the congregation he served about the physical and spiritual struggles he engaged up until his death in the spring of 1997. 

As he learned to let go, embrace powerlessness, sense God’s presence in moments most would think God is absent, Ed Campbell opened eyes in practical ways as to how God’s grace works in this world.  And, as he approached his end, Ed preached and preached and preached about God’s goodness at a very basic level. 

Allow me to share a few of his words with you:

The message I’m looking forward to every day, from this moment on, is that there is joy everywhere, if you just look for it.  Or, to say it another way, God is always around.  He is always in the business of redeeming – that is, of turning what looks like a crappy deal into a real possibility.

Ed is talking about a moment when he is tired and wants to resist his wife’s beckoning to get out of his easy chair and join her for a drive.   He musters the strength and courage to get up and the reward for his efforts is an excursion to a local ice cream store.  Cones in hand, they sit together and watch a beautiful sunset.  This is the real possibility God brings forth out of a crappy deal.

So, here we are on August 9^th in a year many of us are ready to view in the rearview mirror.  It has been a crappy deal, without question.  But how do you see God transforming it into real possibilities?  Peter thought the solution was to abandon all he knew, but realizes out there on waves the wind still raged.  He found no relief by running (or wading) away.  He needed God to transform the moment into a real possibility.

When I walked into Riverview on Tuesday the first person I encountered was Steve Galotta.  He was able to give me a complete and detailed account of how the tornado impacted his neighborhood, with a specific emphasis on members of St. Paul’s.  It was the first of many instances I saw of neighbor looking out for neighbor.  We are in this boat together.  And there will come a day when the winds hush and the waves calm.  Until then, we know God is near and notices and, through the empowerment of the Spirit, nothing will befall us we cannot manage.  And who knows, there may just be an ice cream cone in our future!

Name Change

Genesis 32:22-31

Proper 13 / Year A

In today’s first reading we hear one of the most intriguing stories in all of Scripture; the turning point in person’s life.  Until now he has been Jacob – a name which means the Supplanter.  From the moment he was born holding onto the heel of his twin brother Esau, he has connived his way through life, trading for his brother’s birthright then stealing from their father the blessing intended for the first born; after which Jacob flees from his home for fear his brother will kill him.  He returns to the land of his ancestors and there meets and marries Rebekah, but not before being tricked into a union with her older sister. 

Now, years later, Jacob has prospered greatly and returns home.  He receives word Esau, with an army of 200 men, is coming to meet him… one would think to exact revenge.  On the night before their encounter, Jacob is alone when something or someone one attacks him.  They wrestle throughout the night, but neither prevails.  As dawn approaches the assailant injures Jacob, dislocating his hip.  Still, the Supplanter refuses to let go until he is given a blessing.  And the blessing he receives is this: his name is changed from Jacob to Israel, which means “one who has striven with God and humans and prevailed.”

Now, a new name may not seem like much of a blessing to us, but in that ancient Jewish culture it is hugely significant.  Hebrew is held to be the language God uses to create the world.  The 22 letters in its alphabet represent 22 different ways God’s power is manifested in the world.  The combination of letters used to make up any particular word is not arbitrary.  Each letter’s individual power combines with the other letters in a word in order to participate in the reality of what they describe.  The name gives the person or thing it’s essence and substance from God. 

Our word chair, for example, is completely arbitrary and has no impact on what it describes.  But in the Hebrew language the word for chair and the chair itself are inseparable.  The chair is a chair because it has been called a chair.  It can be nothing other than what it has been called.  The actual letters of the word chair, each describing a particular aspect of God’s life and energy, work together to create the thing that is a chair.

Now, Hebrew thought advances this thinking another step when it comes to names.  A person’s name is your life force directing everything about how your life unfolds.  In fact, they believe when a child is born a spirit of prophecy rests on the parents, enabling them to foresee the future by bestowing an appropriate name for who and what you will be.  Thus, Jacob was not just named the Supplanter, it is his life’s destiny.  He can be nothing other than what he is named.  Given this, the blessing of a new name is no small thing.  It represents a complete reorientation in his life and future.  As Israel, he is now a striver who prevails.  He is now on a new trajectory and God has remade him for a new purpose.

Vestiges of this thinking still remain in our culture.  Think about how a Cardinal takes on a new name once elected Pope.  The name he chooses in some way influences who he will be as pontiff.  Or think about the Washington Football Team, which has given up its name.  Whatever it decides to call itself will have an impact on shaping the core identity of its team and fans.  And think about the importance of a person’s name at baptism.  The act of Christening – a word which means Christ-ending –  names our identity from that moment forward as Christ’s own forever, as sure as any Christened ship is known by the name it receives when a bottle of Champaign strikes against its hull just prior to launching.

At some point in our 60’s or 70’s, many of us have the experience of being given a new name and a new identity.  The person who bestows this blessing is a grandchild, whose first attempt at naming us has a way of sticking.  You can live for six decades or more as Bill or Betty, but one day you become Nana or Pop-Pop and that is who you will be the rest of your days.  And your new name will come to signify you as new person, with a new purpose, new priorities, and a new perspective.

The blessing Jacob receives does not come easily.  After a lifetime of cheating and trickery he has finally made something of himself, but the means he uses and the people he hurts along the way come back to him.  In the morning Jacob will face his day of reckoning.  Still, for now, at night, in the wilderness, he is alone, perhaps for the first time since all those years ago when he laid down his head on a rock at Bethel and dreamed of a ladder ascending into heaven.  On that night Jacob made a vow: if God would watch over him on his journey, keep him clothed and fed, grant him prosperity, and bring him home safely, then he would take God as his God.  Now, on this night, all but the final condition has been met… and it seems highly unlikely his reunion with his brother will go well.

Then the wrestling begins.  As I said, it is not entirely clear who or want his assailant is.  Initially the text refers to a man.  Is it Esau, or one of his riders?  There are legends of river demons.  Is this a possibility?  Might Jacob be wrestling only with himself on this fitful night?  As the story unfolds, the assailant seems to be an angel.  After it is over, Jacob himself believes he has been grappling with God.  Perhaps the identity of the combatant is best left unanswered, because in the moment when all your failures and shortcomings come back to haunt you, we are wrestling with not just one opponent.  You struggle with those we have wronged, with your own demons, with yourself, and with God. 

The wrestling ends and Israel is blessed.  The image of him limping into the sunrise, ready to meet his brother, is one of the most poignant in all of Scripture.  It is a universally human moment in which many of us can imagine our own stories.  As Israel approaches Esau, the older brother dismounts and runs toward him.  The story turns beyond anything we might imagine because Esau comes not for vengeance, but mercy.  The two embrace and, for the first time in his life, Jacob – now Israel – receives something he did not have to cheat or scheme to get – forgiveness.  His life, along with his name, has changed.

Where do you see yourself in this story?  Are you now or were you once like Jacob – scratching and clawing your way through life, regardless of how your actions affected others?  Perhaps you identify with Jacob coming to his reckoning.  Or maybe you see your self in the assailant – you would love to get your hands on that one person who…  Or, maybe you see yourself in the assailant who wrestles but cannot prevail – and you simply had to let go and walk away.  Maybe you see yourself in Esau – one who was wronged and hurt by someone close, but over the years has found the grace to forgive and move forward in life.  Or maybe you see yourself in the limping, but forgiven, person of Israel – grateful for the blessing of a new beginning in life.  Wherever you see yourself in this story, never forget God is in the business of releasing the past and fostering new beginning, of guiding us to better futures as we leave behind our broken past.

God's Dream for All People

Proper 12 / Year A
Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

What is heaven like?  Pop culture suggests people in heaven have bodies, wear white robes, float around on clouds, have wings and halos, and play the harp.  If you do an image search of heaven you will encounter colorful depictions with billowy clouds, rays of sunlight, steps ascending to a gate, and a crystal city – usually with a rainbow arched over it.

Scripture gives us much to ponder.  Jesus tells his followers he is going to prepare a mansion were each of them would have a room.  Paul mentions a time when he was caught up into the Third Heaven.  What this is we don’t know because he writes he is forbidden to talk about it.  John receives a revelation of the New Jerusalem; a heavenly city with no sun or moon (because God is its light), a place where there is no pain, no tears, and no death.

The Catechism of the Roman Catholic Church teaches heaven is perfect union with God.  “It is the ultimate end and fulfillment of the deepest human longings, the state of supreme, definitive happiness.”  It also states “heaven is the blessed community of all who are perfectly incorporated into Christ.”  Our Catechism states “By heaven, we mean eternal life in our enjoyment of God.” 

Beyond what will it be like, I suspect the three most common questions about heaven are these:

· Who gets to be there and who doesn’t?  (our Catechism emphasizes eternal death comes from our rejection of God, so it follows eternal life comes from our desire to embrace God and be in God’s company)

· Will we know each other there?  Our spouses, grandparents, parents, children, siblings, friends. famous people…  Will we recognize them and “be” with them?  Can we talk with one another?  Embrace?  Laugh together?

· Will it be boring?  What will we do there beside sing “Holy, holy, holy”?

Our recent lectionary lessons have us reading what are known as “Kingdom Parables” where Jesus teaches us in stories whose introduction is “The Kingdom of Heaven is like…”  As I did yard work yesterday I thought about this wisdom of assigning so many readings about weeds at this time of the year.  While the weeds at my house continue to thrive in this arid time, mercifully the parables about the kingdom are moving on from them… well, almost.

The Gospel of Matthew employs the phrase ‘Kingdom of Heaven’ 32 times.  The other three gospels never use it, opting rather for the expression ‘Kingdom of God,’ which appears 72 times.  For our purposes they mean essentially the same thing… Jesus’ vision of God supreme reign over all creation and the possibility each of us has to invite God to rule in our hearts.  Jesus announces the Kingdom of Heaven is already here even though we know God’s will is not completely sovereign in the world or in our lives.  Nonetheless, it is here.

I speak of the Kingdom of God as being God’s dream for all people.  It is a dream coming into clearer focus as God’s faithful people pursue it. 

Those of you who have joined us for the daily offices in recent days have heard what are referred to as “Conquest Stories” – God’s people entering the land of Canaan and slaughtering one city or village after another… at God’s command… and on occasion enslaving prisoners… again at God’s command.  Today we would say God’s dream for all people includes neither genocide nor slavery, so it is difficult to look back on these stories and make sense of them.  That doesn’t stop some people from trying.  I don’t.  I simply say we now understand this is not a part of God’s dream for all people.

So what exactly is God’s dream for all people?  Defining it is the work of a lifetime.  Some point to the prophet Micah who wrote, “What does the Lord require of you, o mortal ones, but to act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God” (6:8).  This is as good a place to start as any and one thing is sure… in pursing God’s dream there is no place to stop until God’s will is done on earth as it is in heaven.

This morning we hear five short parables, each describing something of what the Kingdom of Heaven is like. 

It is like a mustard seed – one of the smallest of all seeds – which, once planted, becomes a large tree.  God’s dream – or at least a specific part of it – can begin as something seemingly inconsequential that eventually takes on a life of its own.  Remember I said we weren’t quite out of the weeds yet… well, the mustard plant is a weed almost impossible to eradicate once it becomes established.  God’s dream for all people can be like this… unwelcomed, unwanted, and unstoppable.  God’s dream can be disruptive to the way things are and to the way we have always thought God wanted them to be.  Eventually, the new dream takes hold and takes over.

God’s dream can also be like a woman who adds a pinch of yeast to a lump of dough.  The yeast will enliven and energize everything about the dough, making it more full and more satisfying than before.  God’s dream works in and through all things.

Jesus compares God’s dream for all people to something incredibly valuable.  One person stumbles upon it by accident and does everything within his power to make it his own dream.  Another person has been searching for it all his life, and once finding it abandons everything to pursue it.  Jesus’ twelve disciples walked one of these two paths.  Some were spiritual seekers and followers of John the Baptist, but left him in order to follow Jesus.  Others we minding their own business or doing their jobs when Jesus invited them to follow.  God’s dream for all people can catch us in either way.

And speaking of catching, God’s dream is like a net thrown into the sea which catches a lot of fish.  Some are keepers and some are not.  God’s dream is a huge vision and it is for all people, although not all people will want to embrace it.

Notice how each of these brief parables involves a person doing something.  A sower planting a seed.  A woman baking bread.  A person of a journey.  A searching merchant.  Fishermen.  The point is the Kingdom of Heaven – God’s dream for all people – is nothing without people like you and me.  We participate in making the dream a reality because we carry it inside us and like the yeast we let it infuse everything about our lives and relationships.  Like the sower we believe even our small efforts can make a huge difference.  Like the fishermen, we cast our nets far and wide.  And like the person who discovered a hidden treasure or like the merchant who finally finds the object of his search, we believe the most valuable, most meaningful, and most satisfying thing we can have in life is God’s dream for all people alive in us.

The Whole You

Psalm 139
Proper 11 / Year A

“Lord, you have searched me out and known me.”

Thus begins the fabulous 139^th psalm; which declares faith in God’s unfailing and unflagging presence in our lives.  Adam, who after his initial transgression attempts to hide from God, serves as the psalm’s opposite.  From the psalmist’s perspective, there is nowhere one can escape from God.  He or she perceives God is present wherever we are and sees right through us.  And unlike Adam, the psalmist senses there is no need to hide.  He or she thinks of this as good news, as a blessing.

I wonder how we receive it.  Don’t we prefer a God who stays away until called upon?  When we need God we want God to be there to do our bidding.  When we don’t need God, we’d rather be left to our own devices and desires.  And the last thing we want is to allow God into the totality of our being, where lurks more than we are comfortable sharing with others, let alone even acknowledging to ourselves. 

I identify with the parable Jesus tells in today’s gospel reading.  I am like a fine field in which God has sown good seed.  I have been so very blessed in life.  I was born into a stable family during a time of American prosperity.  I have been educated, relatively healthy, and never once lacked for the basic necessities of life.  All in all, I’d say my life has given me many, many advantages to be a pretty good field.  There is no reason I should not be producing bountiful goodness and blessings.  And I am.

But there is something else happening in the field that is me.  Things grow and prosper that should not be there; things that are harmful, hateful, destructive, selfish.  Weeds thrive in the field that is me and I certainly don’t want you to see it and I don’t want God to see it either. 

Have you ever done group work with the Jahari Window?  Developed by two psychologists, it is a tool designed to help people understand who they based on self-perceptions and the perceptions of others.  (There is an image of the Jahari Window on page 6 of today’s bulletin).  It uses two criteria: What others know and don’t know about us and what we know and don’t know about ourselves. 

Participants in the exercise write down a series of adjectives describing themselves and then make a list of adjectives describing each of the other participants.  So, if you describe yourself as tall and others do the same, this word gets put into the box called the arena.  This box contains those things open and public about you.  Next, there are the adjectives you write about yourself, but others do not.  For example, if you don’t know we well you may not know I am an introvert.  It is something I have to tell you about myself in order for you to know.  The things I know about me but you don’t, are grouped in a box labeled façade.  Next, there are adjectives others use to describe you, but you don’t’ use to describe yourself.  For example, others may say you are funny or kind, but you don’t see yourself in this way.  These things go into a box labeled blind spot.  The only way for you to know these things about yourself is for someone to share it with you.  And finally, there are things you don’t know about yourself and neither does anyone else.  This is the unknown, but it is still a part of who we are and influences how we operate.

When we say the Lord knows us, we are affirming God knows everything about us – the arena stuff, the façade stuff, the blind spot stuff, and even the unknown stuff.  And this truth would be absolutely terrifying if not for one thing… the God who sees us loves us through and through without hesitation; without reservation.

How do I know this?  Well, look no further than this morning’s reading from the Book of Genesis.  Jacob has stolen his older brother Esau’s birthright and tricked his father into giving him the blessing belonging to his brother.  Esau understandably vows revenge and when their father dies Jacob realizes he must flee or be killed.  He moves fast and far, covering over 40 miles of the wilderness in one day.  One might think he would use this time to reflect on his life and amend his ways, but not Jacob.  He remains ever the schemer. 

Up until this point in his life, Jacob has demonstrated no perceivable act of faith.  He has not prayed, not sacrificed, not fasted, not tithed.  Neither has he engaged in a single recorded moral act of kindness or integrity.  Still, on this night, using a stone as a pillow, he falls asleep and dreams of a ladder or stairway extending up to the heavens.  A voice addresses him: “I am the God of Abraham and the God of Isaac” – Jacob’s grandfather and father.  Notice the Lord does not say “I am the God of Jacob” because Jacob has yet to bind himself to God.  And yet the God Jacob does not claim promises him protection, prosperity, offspring, and future ownership of the land on which he sleeps. 

When Jacob wakes he sets up a stone pillar and calls the place Bethel, which means “House of God”.  He then makes a vow: “If God will be with me and watch over me on this journey I am taking and if God will give me food to eat and clothes to wear, and if I return safely to me father’s household, then the Lord will be my God.”  This is not a confession of faith.  It is a negotiation; more ultimatum than obedience, more trial and testing than interest in relationship.  Jacob’s response to God amounts to little more than “What is in it for me?” 

How could God be even remotely interested in such a person?  Jacob is a whole lot of weeds and not a lot of wheat.  He hides much and is blind to a great deal about himself.  God sees it all and yet still loves him.  God loves Jacob unconditionally and will work to make him to be a fruitful and productive field.

Faith in this is why the psalmist can pray to God saying…

Search me out, O God, and know my heart;

try me and know my restless thoughts.

Look well whether there be any wickedness in me;

and lead me in the way that is everlasting.

The psalmist is not bragging arrogantly in his or her own goodness, innocence, and purity.  Rather, the psalmist is confessing a faith in God’s unconditional love:

No matter what I do – be it ever so it vile –

No matter where I go – be it ever so foolish –

You will remain with me.

There is nothing – nothing – I can do

to make you forsake me.

Yes, I can do much damage in life –

intentionally and unintentionally,

in thought, word, and deed –

but you, O God, never abandon me.

In essence, he or she is saying if God can love Jacob than God can love me.  I don’t have to hide a single thing about myself from God.  I have a harvest and I have weeds and God knows it altogether.  How can God love me?  Welcome me?  Embrace me?  Grace truly is amazing and I will claim its reality every day of my life!

New Seed / Different Harvest

Proper 10 / Year A
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

Jesus’ parable of the Sower and the Seeds is surely one of his best known stories.  I like to think of the various soil conditions as not being reflective of different types of people – some being influenced by the evil one, others being unable to stand tall and stay true under pressure, and still others being so caught up by the cares of life they are unable to contribute much, while there are some whose receptivity marks their lives with fruitfulness and abundance.  Rather than consigning each individual person to one of these four types, I recognize how each soil condition is a part of my own make-up.  There are parts of me the evil one works on.  There are parts of me that withers under duress.   There are parts of me too preoccupied with “stuff” – both material and emotional.  And there are parts of me that are faithful and productive.  I suspect you can see the same in yourself.

Think about the farmland Jesus describes in his story. In terms of the categories of soil, fully 75% (three out of four) are bad.  Only 25% is as it should be.  But this is only in terms of categories.  In terms of actual acreage, most likely 95% of the soil will receive the seed and produce a rich harvest.  Only a small percentage will be lost to scavengers, rocks, and weeds.  And if we are like the soil, this means most of us do much more good than harm.  We give to life more than we take.  We are marked more by faithfulness than by failure.

In Jesus’ story, he is the sower, we are the soil, and the seed is what he gives to us.  It tells us each of us is full of potential.  The question is what happens to the seeds scattered on you?  How does it fall on you, turn into grain, and become a harvest?  And who benefits from the harvest produced by your diligence?  These questions are not easy to answer in normal times, but in these days the answers feel even more elusive than ever. 

Today is what some of my colleagues are calling the 18^th Sunday in Coronatide.  We are isolated and many of us are alone.  Most of our long established ways of contributing to the common good are not now possible.  We sense we are less productive, less fruitful, and less aware of all God makes possible in and through us.  We are more on edge, more confused, and more frustrated.

Yet somehow, God is still God and Jesus is still sowing seeds, and we still are farmable.  Yes, these difficult times have beaten us down.  Yes, we are not at our best.  And yes, the weeds of our cares and concerns are taking root and spreading.  But there is still much about us open to God’s gifts and much about us remains capable of producing something good, even in these times.

A recent survey learned 75% of employees feel overwhelmed and significantly less productive due to working from home and pandemic-related concerns.  We are having a harder time focusing, distractions abound, and worrying about things beyond our control is draining our emotional energy.  We have made bread and finished projects around the house and face-timed with family and friends all over the country.  We have done everything we can think of to stay busy and distracted, yet things are not getting better and our patience is wearing as thin as our motivation.  We just don’t feel like we are making progress and we are tired of feeling unproductive.

Peter Bregman’s father passed away recently.  Upon reflection he began to notice the grief he is experiencing at a very personal level is not so different from what all of us are experiencing in this time of pandemic, economic collapse, and cries for sweeping change in our society.  Bregman writes about his insight in a recent article in the Harvard Business Review:

I find myself a little lost.  I’m scattered.  Unfocused.  Struggling to be productive.  To move forward on anything in a meaningful way…  I really don’t like feeling all this.  It makes me anxious.

My instinctive drive to push past it kicks in.  To plan a to-do list and schedule my way to productivity and achievement and forward progress.   

That, I know how to do.  It’s my comfort during uncertainty.

But I also have an opposing impulse, a quieter voice, one that feels deeper, more profound, and even scarier: Stay unproductive.

At least for a little while.  Feel the sadness, the loss, the change.  Sink into the discomfort of not moving forward, not getting things done.  In a strange way, not progressing may be its own form of productivity.  Something fruitful is happening, we’re just not controlling it.

In this moment, being unproductive seems important.  I think it’s what I must feel — maybe what we must feel — to allow for growth.  To allow ourselves to pause in the liminal space, to linger with a question that this moment begs us to ask:

How can I allow myself to be changed?

Not, how should I change.  Or how must I change to keep up with a changing world.  And certainly not, how can I not change and preserve the way things have always been…

Can you allow this change in your world — deeply personal and vastly global — to wash over you, shift your worldview, change you?  Not with your discipline or drive, not from a self-directed, strategic, goal-oriented place, but from a place of openness and vulnerability.  Not from willfulness but from willingness.

And in that pause and openness and vulnerability, can you listen — without defense — to the voices you hear and the nudges you feel?  Can you find the emotional courage to follow your inklings, step by step, toward what, even just maybe, feels right?

I hear in this something of today’s parable.  We are in a time unlike any other in our collective lives.   We cannot produce nearly as much of what we used to create, if we can produce it at all.  We just can’t.  And this wears on us.  It erodes our reserves and stresses our ability to be true to how we want to be judged by God, our fellows, and ourselves.   

Since living with you in Suffolk I have observed something of the rhythms of the planting seasons.  Corn is seeded starting in mid-spring, but not all at once.  The planting season is spread out so a harvest will begin in June and extend into the fall.  When autumn comes a different seed is sown – winter wheat.  As its name suggests, it does well in a cooler season, a time not conducive to corn.  Once winter wheat is harvested, seeding corn or some other crop begins again.  And then there are those seasons when, at the farmer’s discretion, nothing is planted at all because the planter recognizes the need to allow the land to rest.

Bregman writes:

We all need emotional courage because being willing to be changed means we must accept and admit that we are not in control and we don’t know.  Two things many of us spend our lives scrambling and acquiring and competing and succeeding and workaholic-ing to avoid admitting.  It’s disorienting to let go.  To realize — to admit — that our control is really only a sense of control.

All of this is to say the Sower is still sowing, but it is not the same seed as before.  The season of Coronatide will not allow for it.  So God, in divine wisdom, is sowing a different seed in our lives.  And, for some of us, God is simply allowing us to be quiet for a time, allowing us to pause, to reflect, to discern, and to rejuvenate for a day to come. 

What new seed do you sense God is scattering in the field of your life?  What might this new and different harvest look like?  How will it bless you while serving others?  Where are you feeling attacked, under pressure, and emotionally disabled, the soil conditions Jesus describes in his story?  What will you do to open up more of the soil that is you to be the person you long to be in these times?